


Reduced to Practice

by otter



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otter/pseuds/otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lies they tell each other, and the ones they tell themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reduced to Practice

_"All deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and falsehood passing from words into things."  
\- Robert Southey_

When Jack died, Daniel said some things that weren't true. He muttered them against Jack's lips before forcing air into his lungs; he snarled them out between chest compressions.

His hands thrust down against Jack's sternum, and inside Jack's chest, something crackled and gave way. One and two and three and four and five and...

He said, "Come on, Jack, you're stronger than this."

One and two and three and four and five and...

He said, "You've been through worse; this is just a walk in the park."

One and two and three and four and five and...

He said, "Breathe, you son of a bitch, or I'm gonna tell everybody how you wore a dress to that reception on P9X-887."

He sealed his lips over Jack's and felt guilty because Jack was dead but it still felt good. One, one thousand; two, one thousand...

He whispered, "Hold on, Jack, help will be here any minute."

One, one thousand; two, one thousand...

He whispered, "You can't leave me here. I can't live without you."

Much later, watching the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Jack's chest, leaning in close just to feel the Jack's faint breath against his mouth, he admitted to himself that nothing he'd said was true.

Jack wasn't stronger than this.

Jack hadn't been through worse, because intermittent death was about as bad as it got, short of death with more permanence.

Daniel would never, ever tell anyone about P9X-887, because he'd sworn a solemn vow; besides which, the native ceremonial garb hadn't been a dress, per se, even if it had resembled nothing more than an evening gown.

Help had not arrived within minutes, or even hours.

The last lie hurt the most, but not as much as the truth on the other side of it: Jack could leave him there. Daniel could live without him.

That one had always been an easy lie to believe. He thought sometimes that maybe if Jack were gone, he'd have to go too. He didn't think so much about where, or how; he didn't ponder suicide, or noble sacrifice, or the two of them ascending together in a tangled flash of light. He just thought sometimes that if Jack died, he'd die too. He thought that it was possible he loved Jack too much to continue breathing without him.

It was a romanticized self-deception, and he knew it. If he loved Jack too much to live without him, where did that leave everyone else? Did that mean he loved Sha're less, because he'd carried on when she was gone? Did that mean that Jack hadn't loved Charlie enough, because he hadn't eaten that bullet after all?

He poked at the fire with a charred stick, and said, "I'm sorry, Jack," even though Jack couldn't actually hear him, and wouldn't know what the apology was for, anyway.

~*~

Jack's breath was a rush of heat and need against Daniel's shoulder. His fingers were wrapped around Daniel's wrists, their bodies pressed tight together and Jack's pinning Daniel's down on the couch. His tongue traced Daniel's carotid with deceptive delicacy, and Daniel arched back, tilted his chin up to grant easier access. There were still bandages wrapped around Jack's torso, covering the places where all those seeping holes used to be, the ones that had seeped a bloody trail like breadcrumbs across an alien landscape. Jack had died twice, and Daniel had wrenched him back again twice, but neither of them was too concerned with those thoughts just then.

Janet had told him to avoid strenuous activity, at least until the stitches came out. Jack was shucking off his pants, and pulling Daniel's shirt off, so Daniel helped. That was, after all, why Daniel had come: to help. He'd cooked dinner, re-dressed the bandages. Sex was a natural progression, from there.

Jack wasn't as strong as he wanted to pretend to be (not stronger than *this*, either) and he had to surrender his position on top, shift to the side instead. He nestled in, almost cosy, against Daniel's side, wrapped one hand around Daniel's cock and rubbed his own against Daniel's hip, creating a rhythm.

Thrust, pull, thrust, pull...

Jack said, "Oh God, Daniel, I can't live without this."

Thrust, pull, thrust, pull...

Jack whispered, "I love you, Daniel. God, I love you."

Nothing he'd said was true, but it had always been a lie that was easy to believe; the kind that was love in itself, a gentle mercy because the truth was so much harder.

Daniel wondered if it was the kind of lie which turned, eventually, with much repetition, into the truth. He shifted and turned, huddled close to kiss at Jack's throat, collarbone, jaw and then buried his face in the curve of Jack's shoulder.

After a long, quiet time, Jack stroked an infinitely gentle hand down Daniel's arm and said, "I'm sorry, Daniel," even though he didn't think Daniel could hear him, and the apology wouldn't help anything anyway.

\-- the end --


End file.
